


icing on the cake

by jeannedarc



Category: SuperM (Korea Band)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Birthday Sex, Blow Jobs, Face-Fucking, Finger Sucking, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, basically just taemin babying ten for his birthday, but like. kindly, sexy misuse of cake icing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-28
Updated: 2020-02-28
Packaged: 2021-02-27 21:55:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,964
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22932910
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jeannedarc/pseuds/jeannedarc
Summary: It's like the city is celebrating with him. Not that Ten needs the company when he's got some of his own. He doesn't think he's been this happy for a long time.
Relationships: Chittaphon Leechaiyapornkul | Ten/Lee Taemin
Comments: 17
Kudos: 170





	icing on the cake

**Author's Note:**

> i mean...i kinda had to, didn't i, since none of you cowards are filling up this tag  
> did y'all even See the videos? i have never seen lee taemin be so gentle with a cake before in my Life  
> hashtag happytenday :~)

The view from the hotel balcony is a brilliant one; he can see all the lights in Paris, each one twinkling against a greyed-out sky. Like the city knows it’s his birthday, and is choosing to celebrate him as he does himself. He’s reminded of cakes he isn’t eating yet, of parties of years past. It’s romantic, in a rose-tinted way, and he can’t say he hates it.

It’s been a long while since he’s been this happy. His face hurts from all the smiling he’s been doing, a willing recipient of all the love that’s been poured over him today.

He leans against the railing, watches the metaphorical birthday candles on the horizon flicker out one by one, the city skyline never truly growing darker, almost in spite of the darkness trying to creep over its gilded tops, its crests and valleys. It’s enough to take his breath away.

Or, well, it would be, if he had any left when he’s intruded upon in his reverie by the scent of jasmine, the feeling of arms wrapped around him, the warmth of bare skin upon the places in which his own is exposed. There’s a gentle nip at his ear, lips tugging at one of the many piercings that adorn him. 

“Hey, hyung,” he says, voice shaking, overwhelmed with affection. He turns and finds himself nose-to-nose with Taemin, who’s still glowing with the adrenaline of a performance, even after his post-concert shower.

He loves Taemin’s eyes. Loves Taemin, though he’s never said as much, not when they’re in a business where ‘I love you’ is the most dangerous sentiment one can give away freely. His heart is the only one to whisper it, and only in the darkness of the room they sometimes share when things get rough.

Tonight, though -- tonight isn’t rough. Tonight Taemin is all goofy smiles, and he’s _so_ pretty, illuminated by the city just beyond their reach.

“Did you have a good day?” Taemin asks, voice low, in case someone might be listening in. This is simply their lot in life. Ten would be foolish to ignore the thrill it sends up his spine, the clandestine nature of it all. 

“Did you _see_ my Instagram,” jokes Ten, blithe as can be as he bumps noses with Taemin, longing for a kiss he can’t steal. “Maybe we should go inside? I mean, I asked you over for a reason.”

“That had nothing to do with it being your _birthday_ ,” and here Taemin singsongs it, cutely, like he’s going to break into that horrible birthday song that everyone and their three best friends have showered Ten with today. “Completely. I know already. Come in, though, really. It’s cold. Don’t want you getting sick.”

It is admittedly a strange concept, being so cared for by someone whom Ten’s admired for so much of his life. Like he’s crossed some foreign canyon, closed too many gaps for it to be real. Still, when they cross the threshold of the balcony, slide the glass door closed behind them, Ten knows how nice it is to have arms wrapped around him and know that, for all his fancying Taemin some sort of prodigal child of the flock, he’s just a person. A loving one. A caring one. One that is kind enough to take his sadism out on the people he loves just a little bit less than Ten.

No sooner are they greeted by the veritable chaos of everyone else out in the hallway -- their door isn’t open, they’re not that brave, not that _stupid_ , but Yukhei is so loud even when they’re sharing their floor with a few dozen other guests -- than does Taemin press a kiss to the tip of Ten’s nose.

“You still smell like frosting,” he mumbles, lips barely moving, he not inching even a little bit away from Ten’s face. “Have you washed your face at all?’

“Not yet, no,” and here Ten smirks, he the king of dick jokes or whatever, “didn’t really see the point.”

Taemin’s smile mirrors his own. “Is that so.” Like he’s commenting on the rain that happened today. Like he hasn’t planned it at least a little. Like he didn’t nab a slice of that cake just for the purpose of bringing it back to the hotel for them to share alone.

It had been hard to fight off instinct when Taemin had so tenderly dabbed on the end of his nose; he’d wanted to take Taemin’s face in his hands, kiss him for all he was worth. Now he has all the time and space and privacy in the world to do whatever he wants. A kindness, he figures, when Mark had agreed to swap Taemin rooms for the night. 

“You’re a tease, you know that?” Ten asks as he crosses the room, halfheartedly making an effort at shedding his shirt only to have the collar get caught on his ear. Taemin is right there to untangle him. A kindness. Whoever says Taemin is a devil in sexy clothes just doesn’t know him, hasn’t gotten the opportunity to learn all the things that Ten has over the past few months. “Putting sugar all over my face.”

The cake is sitting atop the desk, looking odd beside a stationery set, an ancient landline phone. It still bears the mark of a candle set clumsily in its sugary surface. Taemin lifts the wrapping off it, swipes his fingertip through the frosting, holds it up like some prize. “You didn’t seem to mind,” he points out, offering his finger in Ten’s direction.

Challenged and mesmerised in equal measure, Ten crosses the space between them, his bare feet sore against the carpet. “What makes you think that?”

“The look on your face, mostly,” and Taemin’s own expression is something glazed-over, mirroring the way Ten feels when he takes that frosted fingertip into his mouth. “You were so happy.” He takes back the proffered digit, makes another lazy swipe in the cake, gives Ten another shot of that flavour that makes him moan helplessly.

Ten, obviously, can’t answer in any way that would constitute verbosity, mouth filling with sugar and the gentle salt of skin upon his tongue. He closes his eyes and feels Taemin tense almost imperceptibly when he drags his own bottom lip against the pad of his finger. Not that he lets go. Not that he’s ready to. Good for him, he thinks, finding someone who knows and is pleased to indulge this proclivity of his. Every time he does he’s reminded of Taemin finding it, almost by accident, the two of them on a sort-of date, before they’d discussed everything. Dinner in Dallas. Candlelight, low conversation, no prying eyes, and Taemin had brushed a little swipe of sauce from the corner of Ten’s lips only to have his thumb practically sucked down in the next breath.

He’d forgotten his train of thought, having been mid-sentence. Ten had liked that. Still does. The idea of catching anyone off-guard is enticing, for him, but even more so when it’s Taemin.

“Tastes good,” Ten mumbles, holding the tip of Taemin’s index finger between his teeth for the purpose of speaking. “You, I mean. Cake’s alright.”

“You love sweets,” Taemin teases, inching closer when Ten finally lets him go. His arms circle Ten’s waist and pull him closer, until they’re chest to chest. The warmth between them prickles the hair at the nape of Ten’s neck, just a second. A thrill. Everything with Taemin, he finds, is thrilling.

Then Taemin’s mouth is on his own, and they’ve done this a thousand times -- like teenagers in need of practise, although neither of them have ever fumbled quite as awkwardly -- but every time is like the first. Especially tonight. Ten’s toes curl into the slightly-worn carpet. His hands reach out blindly, find Taemin’s waist, giving him a squeeze. “Love you,” he says, the words a bubble caught in his throat that pop against Taemin’s mouth.

Taemin draws back, tips his head. “Yeah?” he asks, lighting up like the city does just beyond their line of vision, and Ten doesn’t think he’s ever been so lucky as to bear witness to this. A gift just for him.

They kiss again, again, again, until Ten is drunk with it, the sensation light, fluffy, otherwise incomparable. This, he thinks, is what he needs -- no, _deserves_ today. Taemin nips at Ten’s lower lip, asking for safe passage, and when he’s granted that he licks hotly into the waiting, wanting, aching chasm of Ten’s open mouth. This, too, is familiar, the danger of it simmering beneath his skin. 

“Want you,” Taemin murmurs, and the knowledge of being wanted is enough to get Ten to do anything. He’s always known as much. Being faced with it brings him no shame.

They stumble toward the bed, Ten falling first, caught by the plush softness of their mattress, the cold of the sheets. He shivers, but isn’t cold long, instead wrapped in those arms he’s come to crave so deeply that he nearly breaks their cover on a consistent basis.

That, too, is dangerous. They both seem to like it, seeing as neither of them protest.

When Taemin’s mouth trails down the sharp line of Ten’s jaw, the noise that spills out from between Ten’s parted lips is enough to break the quiet clean in two. It’s worse when Taemin’s wandering hands find the expanse of Ten’s chest, a thumb dragging over a pert nipple, rolling it in a perfect circle.

“What do you want with me?” Ten asks in a low purr.

Taemin doesn’t answer, but when he raises his head just enough that Ten might catch the wicked gleam in his eye -- well, that’s enough.

His lips find little spots to mark, safe places, where even the most scanty of clothing will hide them. They’re pros at makeup anyway. Every time his tongue meets Ten’s skin, Ten swears he can feel his cock twitch hard against the inside of his thigh. His fault, he guesses, for failing to take off his pants, for wanting to be unwrapped like a gift. “Careful,” he warns, then adds in a huff, “ _hyung_.”

The laugh that gets him is the best gift of the night.

Still, Taemin’s wandering mouth searches out spots, leaves them purpling, laves his tongue over each and every one of them like it’s his fucking _job_ , and Ten doesn’t know that he can deal with a lot of teasing, not when they’ve performed tonight and every time Taemin so much as looks at him he remembers being held, being treasured, being _cherished_ in a way he would be allowed to expect if only he’d let himself do it. 

His spine arches forward, chest pressed against the perfect ‘o’ of Taemin’s mouth. He wants, he needs. Taemin is happy to give that to him, with that wandering hand, which finds the front of his sweats, palms him with no lack of care. His mouth finds a nipple and sucks it into his mouth, tongue dragging over it maddeningly, in a counter-rhythm to the way his hand presses against Ten’s cock. 

Relief. Ten’s been dying to be touched all night.

“Taemin hyung,” Ten gasps when those fingers fit around his length through the thick fabric of his pants. “Do you want to do me a favour and take those off?”

Taemin doesn’t answer save a hum, low in the back of his throat. The sound of it ripples against Ten’s skin, and he makes another sound the likes of which he can’t really control so much as bear witness to.

Eventually, though, Taemin’s fingers, a little sticky when the one brushes against the line of Ten’s hip, find the elastic of his sweats. He pulls them off with no lack of grace, casts them to some unseen part of the bedroom floor. Almost childishly, Ten wriggles beneath Taemin, lifting his head only to prop himself up on an elbow, get a better view of what he knows is about to happen.

For one thing, he had thought not to wear underwear. For another, Taemin’s got this almost impish grin on his face as he dots little kisses along the spread of Ten’s inner thighs, each one in turn. “Want me to suck you off, birthday boy?” Taemin asks in that low, low voice that lets Ten know he’s just as turned on by giving as he would be receiving. 

“Yes, please,” Ten manages, voice high when the weight of his hard-on twitches against Taemin’s cool breath. “ _Please,_ ” he adds, knowing too well how much it’s appreciated when he begs.

And just like that, Taemin takes him in, almost no warning to the act save that same breath. Taemin, it should be noted, has probably been sucking dick for years, judging by the practised way he teases at the slit with his tongue even as he suckles at the head, the swiftness with which he wraps his fingers around the base of Ten’s cock to stroke him off as he teases. 

“Oh, God,” gasps Ten, eyes rolling back in his head, head tipped back hard against the sheets. He’s dizzy even with this, with the tension still holding tight in him that’s been keeping him going all night finally meeting its relief, its eventual end. “Have I-- oh, have I ever told you how, how good you are?”

Taemin pops off Ten’s dick with a decidedly lewd sound. “Maybe once or twice,” he says demurely, which definitely does not suit him, and definitely does turn Ten on even more. He whines, ruts into Taemin’s hand still fitted around his length. “Oh, you’re so impatient tonight--”

“S’my _birthday_ ,” Ten whines, cinching shut his eyes and thrusting again into the tight circle of Taemin’s fingers. 

“It _is_ your birthday,” Taemin agrees, wasting no time in getting back to what he was doing just a moment before, this time not bothering with the kindness of teasing Ten so much as just taking him in entirely, tongue massaging the underside of his cock in a way that Ten can only call _divine_.

Having his dick sucked by anyone is something of a religious experience; it’s a rarity, he too focused on work, on perfection, so when it _does_ happen he prizes it, tucks it away in the metaphorical bank where all his fantasies are kept. But there’s something about Taemin -- not just his senior, nor just a beautiful man who so happens to be enamoured of Ten enough to do so, but the meeting place between those two aspects, and more -- and the way in which he takes his time, finds every single thing that turns Ten on that makes it positively worthy of ascension. This much is evident in the way Ten can’t seem to help himself, just barely holds back an indelicate cant of his hips.

Not that Taemin seems to mind. He pulls away again, maddeningly, leaving Ten weakly pulsing beneath a barely-there hand. “Do you want to fuck my mouth?”

And no one’s ever asked him that so blatantly, so boldly. He twitches again, and nods, and gasps out Taemin’s name like a curse when he’s sheathed again in the tight, wet heat of his mouth. His fingers thread through Taemin’s hair, holding him still -- carefully, just in case.

“So pretty,” Ten chokes out when he can’t keep himself in check a second time, when he thrusts into Taemin’s mouth only to feel the tip of his dick brush the back of Taemin’s throat. “You look so good with your mouth full, hyung…” And yes, that’s the thought that occupies him as he watches the stretch of Taemin’s perfectly pink lips around his entire length, but it’s more than that, more than he has words for.

Tears pool at the corner of Taemin’s left eye, and he sparkles with it, but his eyes ask for more when his mouth isn’t able to. The fingers Ten’s got in Taemin’s hair tighten round the beautiful, slightly-damp strands, and Ten’s hips jerk forward without his own permission.

Taemin, deranged, just moans, and that’s enough for Ten. He lets go, ignoring the insistent pull of arousal that licks, disappointed, at the swelling of his belly, tightening the muscles of his abdomen.

“Do you want to fuck me?” he asks, voice hoarse with the arousal that’s been building in him for the better part of an entire evening. “Please, hyung, I just-- want you inside me.”

Smiling, Taemin crawls up the bed. “What do you want, baby?” he asks quietly, now they’re eye-to-eye, now he can rest his forehead on Ten’s. “You want my fingers? You want my tongue, my cock?”

Every option is more tantalising than the last, but Ten is aching with hours’ worth of work, can’t imagine the toll it’d take on him to ride Taemin into the coming morning like he really, really wants to, not to mention all the extra work Taemin had been doing while they’d been in France, the hours weighing on his bones, making it hard for either of them to do much more than want. So he settles. He’s had enough gifts tonight.

“Fingers,” he says, languid when he claims Taemin’s lips for his own, just a brief thing, a promise for a time yet to come. “But I want to fuck when we’re in London. If you can. If you feel like it.”

Almost like it’s an answer Taemin drags his thumb across the slightly-swollen pad of Ten’s bottom lip, inviting Ten to do that thing he loves so much. Far be it from him to pass on one last present. He takes Taemin’s thumb between his lips, dragging the tip of his tongue across the fingerprint, learning every ridge all over again. Without realising he inches closer, their hips pressed together, his length trapped between their bellies and pulsing in a way that might almost be threatening.

He hooks his leg over Taemin’s hip, presses them even closer, not wanting to even conceive of space between them.

“Lube?” Taemin asks, arching an eyebrow. The way his mouth curls around the word makes Ten crazy in a way that he can’t quantify. He makes some vague gesture to his suitcase, tucked in a corner, making a noise that’s almost affronted when Taemin rolls away to get it. He closes his eyes just to listen to the unsteady breathing, the padding of bare feet on the hotel room floor, the gentle crinkling of a bottle wrapped in plastic. When the bed beneath him dips under the weight of a second body, Ten turns his head opens his eyes, meets Taemin with a smile over his shoulder as his each and every curve seems to accommodate Taemin’s in almost perfect fashion. “Hey.”

Taemin kisses him, a greeting, a promise, everything Ten’s ever wanted. He keeps kissing Ten, down the back of his neck, almost between his shoulderblades, everywhere he can comfortably reach as his hand finds its place between Ten’s legs. His mouth fits around the shape of one of Ten’s myriad earrings as he presses the slick tip of his middle finger against Ten’s entrance.

“Please,” Ten whispers, head tipping back against the curve of Taemin’s shoulder, trying to goad him into another kiss. It works, but only because Taemin slips inside him, and it feels so good, so strange, so fulfilling that Ten swears he could cum right then and there.

He doesn’t, but he could.

Instead he rocks back onto Taemin’s hand, careful not to injure himself, to take it slowly. “Feels good.” It’s a shaky sentiment, one he barely gets out of his mouth as words instead of unintelligible noises. “You’re so good, you know?”

Taemin answers by crooking his finger, a gentle gesture, an attempt at drawing one of those breathless sounds from Ten’s throat again. He does what’s asked of him, the muscles of his thighs flexing impatiently as Taemin works into him, deeper with every slow drag. “You’re so pretty,” Taemin breathes against the place where Ten’s neck meets his shoulder. 

That alone -- that respect, that admiration -- makes Ten twitch all over. He reaches behind himself, hand wrapped around the slim bones of Taemin’s wrist, guiding himself to be fucked harder. Just a little. Just enough that he’ll still feel it after the high of the birthday wears off. 

“More,” he asks, voice straining to keep even, though he isn’t sure why he bothers. Taemin obliges, slips another slick finger into him, the two of them gently spreading. Only a bit. Only enough. Ten babbles out a series of swears that he can’t be sure aren’t just one enormous keymash of obscenity. He’s so turned on, heat pooling in each crevice of him left unstretched. His belly tightens. “Please, baby, I just--”

“I know,” coos Taemin, the sadist, always just a little bit too into taking his time when Ten can only ever want more, more, _more_ of him. “I know, and you’re being _so_ good for me, all pent up like this, I should be nicer to you, shouldn’t I? It’s what you deserve tonight.”

It is what Ten deserves, and he rolls his hips backward to force Taemin’s fingers deeper inside him, like his impatience isn’t obvious enough. “Just...just need you,” he manages, tongue heavy, head dizzy, eyes going crossed when the wet pad of Taemin’s finger brushes that spot inside of him. “Can I-- can I touch myself?”

“Oh, yes,” Taemin says quietly, voice little more than a breath against Ten’s skin, “hold on a second, I want to see--”

He shifts, halfway drapes himself over Ten’s torso, watches with impossibly huge eyes while Ten wraps his own hand around his cock and starts to stroke himself. He matches his pace to that of the fingers in his ass, clenching gently around them, an invitation to linger, should Taemin feel so inclined. He does, it seems, slipping a third finger inside, stretching him in a way that’s almost too good to bear. The tip of his cock, already purple with disuse, leaks profusely with precum, and it makes touching himself that much better, the slide a smoother one with every pass of his palm along himself.

Ten barely gets enough time to warn Taemin that he’s close, just a couple of subtle brushes against his prostate when he cums, spilling over his tummy, a splash of it catching on Taemin’s bare chest. It’s a good thing Taemin’s practically laying on him, still lazily fingering him even as his dick twitches uselessly in his hand, as he whines out something about it being ‘too much’ that sounds like he’s got his wires crossed.

Here, in the still, in the quiet only broken by his own laboured breathing, Ten could look out onto the horizon, watch his birthday candles die. But he’s got something he’d rather look at right now.

Eventually Taemin takes back his hand -- god, for someone with baby carrot fingers there’s no reason he should be so good at fucking like that -- and Ten rolls, lets himself be swept up in those arms again.

“We’re still fucking in London,” Taemin says, like he can read straight into Ten’s head, suss out the vague notion of guilt he’s feeling about having sex when it’s an on-day. “Don’t worry about that.”

“My family are coming,” Ten says, sheepish, ducking his head to bury his face in the curve of Taemin’s shoulder.

“I’ll see them with you, then,” Taemin mumbles as he dusts his lips against Ten’s crown. “Can I clean you up, at least?”

“ _Yes_ , please,” Ten says, rolling onto his back and watching Taemin retreat into the en suite bathroom. 

He can’t remember being this happy in forever. His smile aches from showing so much.

**Author's Note:**

> [twitter](http://twitter.com/appiarian)   
>  [cc](http://curiouscat.me/chahakyeon)


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